Better Left Unsaid
by SammyQuill
Summary: Three times Petyr Baelish did not tell Catelyn Tully he loved her.


**Disclaimer:** A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to Lord GRRM - yes, even Littlefinger. *sigh*

**AN:** Many thanks to firebluespinel and ssadropout for their help in beta-ing this.

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><p>1.<p>

She loved riding almost too much to be healthy for a lady of such a great house. Petyr might have not been a girl but he knew enough to know they had to learn things like sewing and singing from Septas and not spend half their time out by the stables, asking the irritated master of horse a dozen questions about this breed of mare or that. He himself felt no pleasure in riding, except maybe to ride beside her and watch her auburn locks play tug of war with the winds around Riverrun. Petyr would never admit it, of course but sometimes, he envied the gales and their ability to run long, invisible fingers through her hair and dress and pull her this way and that, making her laugh all the while.

She often rode to one of the many streams near the castle that gave the lands around Riverrun its name. Sometimes with her sister, sometimes alone or with him in hot pursuit, pretending he was a bandit chasing after a noble lady for her coin and jewel. The game had been an idea of Edmure's when they were younger but ever since he had fallen off his horse once and twisted his ankle, the young heir had rather lost his liking for the sport. Cat didn't though and well until they were fourteen, she and Petyr played their pretend games. Cat never fell off her horse, urging Petyr to better his riding skills and chase her all around the grassy river banks in the area.

It was on a rather unremarkable day that Petyr Baelish realised he loved Catelyn Tully. He had just gone to the stables to check in with one of the hands about a message he wanted sent discreetly to the fingers (even at that age, he knew the value of a secret) when he had spotted Cat there, stroking her long elegant fingers through the silky white mane of a beautiful mare – a gift to Lord Hoster from a lesser lord apparently. But instead of the dozen or so questions the girl usually had for the master of horse, she had been silent, her eyes unfocussed and a soft smile gracing her full yet untainted lips. She had looked completely at peace as the bright sunlight played on the blue beads of her otherwise plain gown. And at that moment, he had known it with absolute certainty.

He had always known she was beautiful. His member had started going hard at certain images of hers since they were twelve. He knew he lusted for her like any man would lust after a beautiful lady. But at that precise moment as the wind blew through the airy stables and played with a stray lock of her hair, he knew that he not only lusted for Catelyn Tully but loved her. Loved her like he had never loved anyone or anything in his life. He had always been an ambitious boy but at that moment, he knew he would sacrifice all his dreams and plans if he could have her for himself.

"Oh Petyr, I didn't see you there. Is something the matter?" she asked, smiling up at him in a way that always made his heart skip a beat.

"No nothing, I was just looking for Mallos, he's supposed to get my new saddle ready."

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><p>2.<p>

His name was Brandon Stark and he was like the rest of them. From a major house, heir to said major house, future warden of the north. And Catelyn's future husband.

How Petyr hated him.

In all fairness, the boy knew how irrational his hatred of the man was. After all, Brandon Stark had never done him wrong. Brandon Stark probably didn't even notice his meagre existence from Winterfell's bloody frozen throne. Petyr was perfectly aware of how unjust his thoughts were towards the heir apparent who would one day marry Cat, but that didn't mean he could do anything about them. After all, Catelyn had never shown any interest in him as something more than a mere ward of her father's. In fact, as she had grown up and started doing more womanly things (and Petyr was only just starting to learn what those things were) she had grown distant from him. Their afternoon rides and games of horse chase were nothing but a distant memory now and it seemed the only time Cat could spare for Petyr was when her little sister dragged her along to play one of her silly games. The lady Lysa was still young enough so that her running rampant through the castle would be considered appropriate but not her older sister. Cat was now expected at daily prayers in the sept, entertaining at dinner, taking even more dance lessons, getting involved with other noble ladies and a whole host of things that Petyr just _knew_ did not interest the eldest Tully at all. After all, he had known Cat the girl, could Cat the Lady have changed so much over a few short years?

And as for this Brandon Stark, some discreet research (and one had to admit, if Petyr Baelish had a particular talent for something, it was that) had revealed was certainly not the type of man that would keep his Cat happy. He might marry Catelyn Tully but he would never know, love or cherish the Cat that only Petyr knew. Brandon Stark would never love her the way Petyr Baelish did.

Mulling all these thoughts over in his mind, Petyr found himself nearing the steps leading to Riverrun's sept. Petyr didn't pray, not really. But it would be suicidal to actually admit it out loud to anyone. The Gods had no power over one's fate, he believed. Nor could They influence it in any way. Be it of the north or the Seven of the stars, Gods and deities were just something people conjured up to comfort themselves and keep hope alive. Petyr had long stopped counting himself among such fools.

Catelyn however, had not. Or maybe she had but just didn't let it on. Her duty was to be faithful to her Gods and if she wasn't anything else, she was dutiful – to a fault, her sister sometimes complained petulantly. Cat was making her way from the Sept, a rosary held loosely in her fingers. He could tell she wasn't interested in it just by the way she held it and for a moment, the boy longed for the days when he could snicker with her behind their balding septon as he tried to instruct them of the heavenly virtues. Where had that Cat gone? The one who kicked his shins under the table and pushed him in ice cold streams – only to jump in right after him. This young woman in her elaborate blue and red gown with Myrish laces trailing from her sleeves and her red hair bound under a scarf looked nothing like the childhood companion he had been in love with.

But in love with her he still was. Because while she might be doing her hardest to erase all signs of the Cat she used to be in order to become the Lady Tully and then Stark she would one day become, she still exuded hints of the childhood he remembered. It was hard to notice for someone who didn't know her gait as well as Petyr but Cat was having trouble navigating in that gown with all the fussy lace. It would be invisible to anyone else but Petyr was sure he saw her throw a longing glance towards the stables. And the smile on her face when she saw him had similar elements of the smiles she had given him in abundance since they were children.

"The prayers are over, Petyr. Though you can go light a candle to the Warrior if you like," she said softly, a hint of sorrow lacing her voice. War was upon them and everyone from green boys to hardened men prayed for strength while their mothers and wives prayed to the Mother for mercy. He wondered what Cat – no, Lady Tully – prayed for. Did she beseech the Warrior to grant her intended strength in facing the Targaryens? Or did she kneel in front of the Mother, begging for Brandon Stark to come out of the rebellion alive? Both thoughts made Petyr sick.

"Brandon Stark isn't the man for you," he blurted out without thinking. He handn't intend to say it like that, or at all actually. But right now, as he stood facing the slowly diminishing shadow of his Cat he couldn't help himself. She wasn't Cat anymore, and her next statement proved it.

"I do hope, Ser Petyr, that you did not intend to speak ill of Brandon of house Stark. I'm sure my Lord Father would be most displeased to hear such a thing."

"Why yes, my Lady. I did in fact intend to speak ill of Ser Brandon. After all, how else would one speak of a man who is infamous in all the pleasure houses from Casterly Rock to Winterfell," he replied just as icily, making her blush. If she wanted to play the courtesy game, he could play with her. Truth be told it had been so long since he had played anything with Cat that even a thinly veiled argument was a welcome thing.

Catelyn managed to disguise her embarrassment as anger well. Or maybe she really was angry? Or both? It scared Petyr that he could no longer read her like he used to.

"If you mean that Ser Brandon is ill suited for me simply because he has known a few other women outside of a marriage bed then you are mistaken," she says through gritted teeth. "All his personal activities do not change his family or the alliances my Lord father has formed with them." In just a few words, she had assured him once again that he had all but lost his Cat. There would be no point in convincing her that Brandon Stark would never make her happy because this woman, Lady Tully, put her duty well above her happiness and he would get nowhere challenging that. Perhaps young Cat might have given priority to perusing hobbies that made her happy but Lady Tully was a creature of family, duty and honour.

Petyr wanted to tell her so many things right there and then. He wanted to tell her how much he missed Cat, how much he hated the woman she was becoming, how he longed to go riding with her just once more or dance with her to a tune that existed only in their heads. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that despite all the changes she had gone through, he still loved her and would do anything for her. But he didn't. The next words that left his mouth were ones that shocked her to the core.

"Brandon Stark will be coming to Riverrun next month. I will be challenging him to a duel for your hand, my Lady. You can thank me after I've won and freed you from a most dreadful fate."

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><p>3.<p>

Perhaps there were Gods after all, and they could influence a mortal's fate? How else would Petyr explain the wedding being held at the sept right at this moment? Brandon Stark was dead and yet, Cat hadn't gone back to being Cat, she was still Lady Tully – only now, she was marrying Eddard Stark in place of his brother.

Why had Petyr thought that Brandon was the only thorn in his way? How naive to think that if he managed to send enough information to the Mad King of the Starks coming, everything would magically set itself right. Lord Hoster would realize that Petyr had enough talent and skill to become a true lord one day and would have gladly given the hand of his oldest daughter to his ward. Lord Hoster's face had gone through a myriad of expressions but pleased were none of them when Petyr had subtly hinted he might have played a part in Ser Brandon and Lord Rickard's deaths.

And the boy wasn't even foolish enough to believe this day wouldn't have come had Eddard been killed as well. Because no matter how many people died, it wouldn't change that fact that Petyr would always be from the fingers, heir to a few rocks and sheep and a lot of worthless sand – completely unfit to wed a daughter of the Lord of Riverrun.

And what was worse, he could tell Catelyn was unhappy with the arrangements. He could have fooled himself into thinking she was in love with the older, better looking and the more charismatic Stark but this solemn man, no more than an overgrown green boy really? He could sense her hesitance as well as her fear as she and Lysa made their way to the sept where the double wedding ceremony was to be performed. While Lady Lysa made it no secret that her marriage was against her wishes, Catelyn simply did what she always did – her duty. Nevertheless, it didn't stop her from clutching her maiden cloak firmly around herself even though the evening breeze was not even slightly chilly. He could sense – for an instant with the same clarity with which he had always been able to sense her emotions when they were children – her reluctance to accept the direwolf cloak of protection. Ned – No, Lord Eddard Stark now – would be riding off to war on the morrow, perhaps never to return. What then would become of his widow? Would she be wed again as some sort of political assurance? Petyr didn't want to dwell on such thoughts for fear of retching into the rushes.

The ceremony itself didn't take long. In fact, Petyr was surprised at how quiet it had been. He expected it to be over then but the Blackfish appeared at the last moment with hints of the bedding across his features. Petyr left, unsure if he could witness Cat going through something like that. He knew he would be ashamed of having left her to the rowdy wedding guests for the rest of his life. He also knew with absolute certainly that as long as he lived, he would never love anyone as much as he did Cat. Yes, only Cat.

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><p>End Note: Yes, I not so secretly love Littlefinger. Oops, my penchant for liking damaged characters is showing. XD Anyway, please review!<p> 


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